


Collapse From The Inferno

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [23]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Author Should Not Be Allowed To Write, Burning buildings, Fire, Horibbly Written, Other, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?, smoke inhalation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blazing hot heat spilled over Spike’s skin as he ran faster; the flames licked towards his escape route as they twisted skyward and overtook the ceiling. Overwhelming and noxious, the smell of gasoline hovered over every object and surface in the decrepit building like a layer of paint but it was fading fast as the scent of burning wood bogged down the musty air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collapse From The Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a complete and utter failure of a story; have a fun trip into writer's hell. I don't blame you if you don't comment/kudos. XD  
> Somebody please recapture my muse, who has apparently run away and given up.  
> Have a great day, and hopefully this story does not ruin your day! D:
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I do not make a profit from my writing. However, this is still my writing so please don't repost anywhere. Thanks!

Team One jumped out of their vehicles, the mobile command station rolling in behind them, and Spike gathered his things as he collected whatever information he could.

“Witnesses said that there were several bombs attached to barrels,” Winnie read off, “and a room full of gas cans.”

“You know,” Spike joked with the dispatcher, “When I said it was never a bomb, I didn’t mean give me twelve.”

“Are you backing down from a challenge, Spike?” Winnie laughed, and the team watched the bomb tech talk over the radio with smiles on their faces.

“Never,” Spike gasped with fake hurt, “did you send the plans to our PDAs?”

“Yeah, and the area’s been sectioned off by uniforms.”

“Perfect,” the brunette smiled, watching as the bomb disposal truck pulled alongside the mobile command station—keeping a good distance. “Thanks, Winnie.”

Fixing the strap of his thigh holster, Spike tucked his wire cutters into the pocket of his vest and jogged to where the team was standing. They all looked at him in greeting, and then went back to looking at the map.

“They said the devices are in here,” Greg pointed, “once those are defused, we can sweep the rest of the building.”

“Has there been any sign of the suspect?” Jules asked, and the sergeant shook his head.

“None, but still be on the lookout—Spike, you hear me?”

“I got you, boss,” Spike nodded, “sounds like a piece of cake.”

Ed rolled his eyes, clapping him on the back, before lightly shoving him towards the building.

“Go do your job, Spike.”

Once the bomb tech got inside, watching for any small movement or object, it took only a few minutes to find the devices—a collection of drums, with C4 plastered to the top. But they weren’t on a timer, and didn’t look complex enough for a remote detonator. And the brunette told the team as much, before his sentence was cut off by a blur of weight slamming into his side; the figure drove him down into the dirt as the blue barrels loomed arrogantly.

His headset crumbled in the fight.

The team’s collective hearts stopped when Spike’s earpiece went off line, and Ed was already tearing the floor plans out of Greg’s hands and studying the entry points—his mind was as focused as the bullets he wielded, aimed straight and true.

Sam and Wordy pointed out where the devices had been, where Spike _should_ have been, but their conversation, a few minutes in, snapped and fractured—falling silent.

It was so quick, so sharp.

Flames, red hot and out of control, tore apart the roof and started to fall from the windows and doors—already irrepressible by the time they were visible, by the time they’d devoured the inner structures. The large compound turned from a dusty grey to a blazing auburn, and the ash rising into the sky threatened to block out the sun.

With a crack, a section of the building caved in and the team watched—frozen in horror—as embers tumbled across the ground and over the ruins before a vast detonation shook the earth, and where—a mere minute ago—a building had stood there was now only fire and charred wood and twisted metal. Like a funeral pyre devoid of flesh and left with bones.

“ _SPIKE_!” Ed shouted, coughing at the smoke that emptied out of the building in waves, eyes focused on the incandescence let off by the blaze. Greg’s arms wrapped around his waist, holding him back from going after their teammate, as the negotiator barked for the firetrucks—and they all shuddered along with the next explosion; it was smaller, but only fed the fire.

“You can’t go in there, Eddie!” Greg explained while hiding the terror in his voice, and he gave a grunt when the bald sniper trashed against his hold—and the negotiator went to look at Sam, but his younger lover was just peering at the ruined building with blank, unfocused eyes.

“He’s still in there!” The bald sniper screamed back, blue eyes full of panic, “We’ve got to—,”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Greg whispered, watching the emergency vehicles try and contain the blaze—but it was too wild, too hungry. It was too dangerous to risk a life for one that was, in all likelihood, already lost. And they all realized that.

Ed slumped against the truck, training his gaze on the floor, and Sam stumbled forward—not sure of his movements, not sure where to look. There were no tears in his striking eyes, only confusion and recalled memories—like this was just a nightmare and he’d wake up.

“He—,” the bald sniper tried, but his words fell away and died on his lips.

“Maybe he got out,” Sam mumbled, and repeated it louder—with more force, but there was no certainty. When no one agreed, or responded, the blonde man stormed over to the firemen and took his anger out on them—snarling in a scathing tone that his buddy was in there, that his blood was on their hands.

“I’m sorry,” one of the older men told the younger sniper with a gentle voice, a practiced tenor, “But no one inside that building would have survived that explosion.”

Rage burning brighter in his eyes than the building before them, Sam barely caught himself from clocking the man across the jaw—he pressed it down, ignored the hate heating his plasma. Jules and Wordy walked over, Raf on their heels, and guided the blue eyed man away and back towards the SUVs—their lips pressed tight and eyes devastated.

“I’m sure he got out,” Jules whispered, laying a hand on her teammate’s arm, but Sam shook his head and his husky voice cracked like the wooden support beams.

“Not when the building went up that quick.”

 

* * *

 

Blazing hot heat spilled over Spike’s skin as he ran faster; the flames licked towards his escape route as they twisted skyward and overtook the ceiling. Overwhelming and noxious, the smell of gasoline hovered over every object and surface in the decrepit building like a layer of paint but it was fading fast as the scent of burning wood bogged down the musty air.

His earpiece was long lost, missing somewhere in the rubble where the subject had knocked him down, and it was unnerving—the silence, save for the crackling of wood giving way to flame.

Smoke filled his lungs, burning his nose and throat, and the lack of oxygen mixed with the stench of the flammable liquid was making him dizzy but he pressed on—making sure to not let his feet slip out from underneath him on the gasoline-slick floor.

With a quick glance behind him, seeing only orange and char, Spike sped up, rounding another countless corner—and a door greeted him; two heavy metal sheets hinged firmly onto the frame. The bomb tech pressed against it, and it groaned as its rusted pivots were forced to move, until it slipped open far enough that Spike managed to squeeze through the small entrance. Fresh, soothing air rushed into his body; and Spike gulped it in voraciously as he took off sprinting—trying to get as far away from the building as possible. He hadn’t gotten the bombs disabled, hadn’t gotten the barrels of explosives away from the scene. The fire was going for that, but his mind kept switching back to his senses; the smell of the oil still stuck to his skin, putrid and rank.

There was the inaudible hissing of potential energy in the air, that feeling that something’s going to happen, as Spike jumped behind a slab of concrete and pressed himself to the ground—curling up and clenching his hands into fists against his head. Get low, his training screamed, find cover.

The shockwave was first, and Spike felt it even though he was covered by the thick material, traveling across the air with a ripple. Pressured blossomed under his skin as the air in his lungs withered, winding his gut into intricate knots. Then there was the heat, blooming upward before seeping outward, as the building exploded into a fireball. Huge, startling orange-yellow flames jumped skyward as the inferno roared and gray ash floated into the sky like storm clouds.

Letting his eyes open, Spike poked his head over the edge of the concrete block and took in the massive firestorm with a sense of awe. His breathing was a bit shaky, and the shockwave hadn’t helped.

Deeming it safe to leave his shelter, the bomb tech stumbled to his feet and started the long trek back to where his team was—running, when he realized they wouldn’t know if he’d made it out.

Debris and trash littered the abandoned lot, and Spike felt his lungs burn oddly as he ran on—careful to not get too close to the fire-y hell.

When the command truck came into view, Spike sent up a prayer and ran faster—he could feel the scrapes on his face from his scuffle with the subject and he knew he was pale from breathing in so much smoke.

He saw Wordy first, the man leaning against the SUV and keeping a pained eye on the building, and he waved his arms in the air to grab his attention as he got closer. But the man didn’t look, didn’t see.

“HEY, GUYS!” Spike shouted, and it fell into a cough as he paused—the bomb tech afraid that, if he ran anymore, his lungs would give out or his vision would black out.

Sam’s head jerked his direction, and the blonde was sprinting faster than Spike had ever seen him run before. It was just a blur of SRU gear and light hair, and then a rib-breaking embrace that pushed any air left in his lungs out.

“You got out,” Sam puffed against his throat—the smell of petrol and smoke clinging to him, but the younger sniper didn’t seem to care as he spoke with reverence, “ _You got out.”_

“Are you burned anywhere?” His lover asked immediately, hands tugging at the bomb tech’s gear, and the rest of the team clustered around the two, “Any injuries?”

“Just a lot of smoke in my lungs,” Spike coughed again, “The entire place was soaked in gasoline.”

“You’re getting checked out,” Ed ordered immediately, trying to pick the puppy of their team up but Spike pushed him away.

“I can walk,” He asserted, making sure that he didn’t stumble or give the older man any reason to think he was unstable on his feet.

“You just escaped a burning building that exploded,” Greg deadpanned with a sigh, rubbing his forehead and looking far beyond his years. He wrapped his youngest lover tight in his arms, before reluctantly letting go and letting the rest of the team pat and hug their friend.

“Well, I ran here, didn’t I?” Spike coughed out, “Pretty sure I can walk to an ambulance.”

With that, the brunette ambled towards the emergency services—but he didn’t expect the sharp jab that nearly swept one of his feet out from under him; and immediately Ed swung the bomb tech into his arms.

“I can walk just fine; Sam tripped me!” Spike barked in outrage, “Would you put me down?!”

Ed shook his head, beaming wide at having his lover secure in his arms, and headed towards the bemused paramedics while Spike scowled over his shoulder at their blonde lover.

“Nope.”


End file.
